Saint Caffrey
by Rainnboots
Summary: When the crew's on a stake out, who else would send them a little Christmas surprise but Neal Caffrey? Set pre-series.


**Author's Note: **Hello everyone! Here's a short Christmas oneshot to get us all in the spirit of the season. Hope you all like it! And to all my "Un Moments" readers: I'm sorry for this unannounced hiatus. School and personal matters have gotten in the way, and it's been too much for me trying to write new chapters while trying to deal with everything. I honestly don't know when I'll update next, but thanks for sticking with me anyways! And thanks be again to **Sparky Dorian**, my ever-faithful beta reader. :)

**Disclaimer: **I do not own any recognizable names and/or places.

**Warnings:** None!

* * *

Peter shivered, a chill rushing into the van as the back door was opened.

"Shut the door!" three voices yelled simultaneously, glaring at Jones with loathing as the warmth quickly evaporated from the tiny space.

"Sorry," Jones mumbled, pulling his jacket tighter around himself.

"Anything?" Peter asked, a hint of what sounded like hope in his voice.

"Not a peep from room 287," said Jones, much to the dismay of everyone in the van. Shivering again, Peter stood up, taking a moment to balance himself as his legs — half-asleep from him sitting down so long — nearly betrayed him.

"'m getting coffee," Peter said. "Anybody else want some?"

"They coming from Santa?" Jones asked, a small smile on his face as he looked at Peter. Peter shrugged.

"Why not?"

"In that case, I'll take a black coffee," said Jones. Peter nodded.

"Any other special Christmas requests?"

"Chai, please," said Diana, not looking away from the tiny screen in front of her.

"Charlie?" said Peter, looking to the young intern who was seated beside him.

"Hot chocolate, extra foam," Charlie smiled. Peter chuckled.

"Alright then. Two coffees, a chai, and some _hot chocolate_."

Stepping around Jones, Peter slid open the door to reveal a small, confused-looking young man standing outside the truck, a green apron peeking out from beneath his thick jacket and a tray of steaming coffees in his hand. The hand the boy had raised to knock quickly fell back down to his side.

"Shut the door!" the voices behind him chorused, and Peter quickly stepped outside the van.

"Er, Agent Peter Burke?" he said, looking at the name written on the back of his hand.

"Yes..." Peter answered slowly.

"These are for you," said the boy, holding the large coardboard cup holder out to Peter.

"Who sent these?" questioned Peter. "What did he look like?"

"Just some guy, I don't remember who," the boy shrugged, then added, "sorry."

Peter grunted, taking notice of the writing on top of the three lids. Each had the name of one of the agents in the van scribbled on top, and the smell of hot chocolate hit Peter's nose. Looking at the cup holder, he realized there were only three coffee cups, and none of them were for him.

"Happy holidays, sir." With that, the boy was off, jogging for the coffee shop at the corner.

"You too," said Peter. Shaking his head in disbelief, Peter pulled open the doors of the van.

"That was fast," Jones commented impressively, taking the cup with his name on top. "Flash the badge at the counter?"

"Didn't even make it there," said Peter, setting the cup holder down on one of the tables that protruded from the walls.

"What?" said Diana, taking a cup.

"Saint Caffrey sent them over for us," said Peter.

Jones chocked, drops of coffee flying out of his mouth.

"He didn't poison them, Jones," said Peter. "Neal's not a killer."

Jones coughed, covering his mouth almost embarrassingly, and took another sip as Peter stepped around him again.

"Boss, where are you going?" Diana asked, but Peter was already out the door.

* * *

Peter marched down the hotel room hallway, keycard clutched in his hand. Sliding it through the look, Peter carefully entered the room and let the door close behind him. He immediately spotted a cup identical to the one he'd just received on the middle of the dark, round coffee table, sitting on top of an envelope with his name on it. Peter picked up the coffee cup — the last wisps of steams floating through the top — then picked up the envelope and pulled out a large, off-white card with an ornately drawn, gold picture of Santa's Sleigh flying over a tiny crowd of houses on the front. Inside, _Happy Christmas to all, And to all a good night! _was written in large, curvy, and stunning calligraphy over both sides of the card. Scrawled crawled beneath in it black letters, was:

_Thought you might be wanting some coffee too. Merry Christmas, Peter._

_-Neal_

_P.S. It's Christmas Eve. Time to go home._

Peter scoffed, taking a sip of the coffee; it was fixed just the way he liked. Laughing in spite of himself, Peter ran a hand through his hair and took a glance around the room. It was all in order, it didn't even look like Caffrey had been there at all. All a diversion. Taking another sip of his coffee, Peter shook his head again.

"Classic Caffrey." Tucking the card back into the envelope, Peter left the empty room. It was time to go home.

* * *

Reviews? Anyone? Anyone? ...Bueller?


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